


Secret Heart

by heatherfield



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Our Mutual Friend - Charles Dickens
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:02:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6148457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatherfield/pseuds/heatherfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A suspicious death finds Mr. and Mrs. Geppetto the heirs of a great fortune, but how does this join their fates with those of Ruby Lucas, a lowly orphan, Belle French, devoted daughter and sister, Mr. Gold, gentleman-turned-lawyer, and the mysterious secretary Mr. Hopper? Secrets abound in this AU take on Dickens' "Our Mutual Friend" in Victorian London. Red Cricket, Rumbelle, Granny and Marco, with Cruella De Vil and probably others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ruby Lucas shifted on the upholstered chair, her skirts heavy around her as she held her hands in place to keep from fidgeting. The grand room bore down on her, an imposing space with its moldings and damask wallpaper—so different from the dingy boarding house that had been her home for almost twenty years. Ruby had to remind herself how she’d longed for this freedom that had almost been stolen from her.

Her gaze fell to her dress and she ran her fingers over the richly embroidered muslin with a smile. She’d always dreamed of having such fine things, but to have trunkfuls of such dresses, and a whole apartment to herself—it was more than she could grow accustomed to in a few days.

Though it wouldn’t be _too_ difficult a task _,_ Ruby giggled to herself.

The clink of china brought Ruby’s attention up to a plump woman with gray hair setting a tray on the nearby table.

“Oh, Mrs. Geppetto, if I’d known you were serving I would have helped you!” Ruby exclaimed as she jumped up, an effort made more difficult by her extra crinolines.

The older lady waved away any concern for the brief moment her hands were free. “I know it ‘supposed’ to be done by the girls, but old habits, and all.” Setting out the dishes, she gingerly placed the strainer over the delicate china before pouring each cup. “And besides, I told you I’d prefer you call me by my Christian name.”

Ruby took the cup the older woman offered her and smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Lucille.”

Mrs. Geppetto shook her head in a huff at the formality stuck in Ruby’s address, but her returned smile was full of warmth. Ruby marveled at the elegance of the scene in which they both found themselves, and yet the woman in front of her made Ruby feel like she was in a cozy parlour.

A contented sigh escaped Ruby as she realized how far away she was from the boarding house. Run by a woman who was now in the middling stage of life, the De Vil House had the misfortune of having a landlady who, even in her younger years, had always been a terrible old hag. Ruby would call her “Cruella” behind her back, which made the boarders laugh. Lucky for them, they were able to leave after their stay, whereas Ruby was not so fortunate since she’d been left on the doorstep as an infant with enough money to make the cruel spinster keep her fixed to the awful place. To make matters worse, Ruby had caught the eye of a philanthropic gentleman—of the Cricket family—in the park who, on a whim, decided to include Ruby in marriage to his son as part of a conditioned inheritance. The hope of wealth was a saving grace, but to have one’s future fixed was suffocating—tied in the most intimate of ways to a complete stranger—and made Cruella’s claws dig deeper into her at the boarding house.

As fast as fortune’s wheel had turned for her, it brought Ruby crashing down just as quickly as the Cricket son turned up dead in mysterious circumstances shortly after his wealthy father passed away. Before visions of a life of servitude at the boarding house settled on Ruby, a guardian angel in another form—or rather, two—came as the new benefactors of the Cricket estate, Mr. and Mrs. Geppetto, the former housekeepers who decided to follow through on the promise of a better life for a little girl from the wrong side of London.

So, society was scandalized thrice over—the murder of a prominent heir, the bestowing of the fortune on mere housekeepers, and their taking in a girl with no family as their charge. And yet, society could not resist the pull of new money and the desire to see how badly the pretenders would stumble, no matter how much they sneered at the impropriety of it all.

Well, Ruby decided, she would have to disappoint them on that front. She would not let this opportunity be taken from her again: she had everything she could have possibly desired, for now she had the fortune _and_ the freedom to choose her own husband. It was an added blessing that her guardians were so kind, and if she was honest, Ruby felt she’d known them far longer than the week that had passed since they’d moved into the heart of fashionable London.

“Oh! I think I hear Mr. G,” Mrs. Geppetto exclaimed, and Ruby followed her gaze to the doorway to see an older Italian gentleman walk through, followed by an unexpected guest.

“Hello, hello,” Mr. Geppetto greeted both women, and then gestured to the redhead beside him. “This is my new secretary, Mr. Hopper.”

Ruby took in the appearance of the second man, whose patterned waistcoat and straight posture suggested a man above the station of a secretary. His quiet demeanor and his gaze focused on her made Ruby feel like she knew him from somewhere, and her inability to figure him out unsettled her so that she dropped her gaze from his. _Oh, why must I shy away from_ you _?_

Mr. Geppetto leaned towards his wife and added, “I hope it is okay I invited him for tea, my dear, but I couldn’t leave him to the terrible boarding house suppers.”

The boarding house! Ruby _had_ seen this man before. He came to stay the day or so before Ruby was to leave with the Geppettos. Even then he had stared at her far beyond what was considered polite, and it unnerved Ruby to the point of rudeness. She now bit her tongue to hold back a remark, though she had not been so prudent at the time.

“Yes, of course, Marco dear,” Mrs. Geppetto rose to receive the guest. “Welcome, Mr. Hopper! I’m so glad you’ll be able to help Mr. Geppetto in this new business.”

“The young man knows Mr. Cricket’s dust heaps almost as well as I!” Mr. Geppetto laughed as he took the cup of tea from his wife. “Please, do sit down, Mr. Hopper.”

Of course the last space available was the seat beside Ruby, and she tried her best smile as the man sat down. “Thank you, Mrs. Geppetto,” Mr. Hopper said as he took the china from the older lady.

“Forgive me, I haven’t introduced you to our young charge,” Mr. Geppetto said once everyone was settled.

“Miss Lucas,” the man nodded with a clink of the cup on the saucer. “Yes, we met before, at De Vil House.”

Ruby sipped her tea as her benefactors beamed at the discovery.

“Wonderful!” the older man exclaimed. “Just wonderful. I imagine we’ll all become great friends.”

Ruby nodded. Mr. Hopper leaned closer, an intimacy that caught Ruby off guard, and said softly, “only if it pleases you.” Ruby met his clear eyes and for a brief moment, she wondered if he could read her thoughts.

As quickly as it had come, the intimacy passed, and Mr. Hopper turned to Mr. and Mrs. Geppetto and their lively conversation. Ruby threw herself into playing the charming hostess, the young socialite, though she noticed that it was Mr. Hopper who played the polite gentlemen while Mr. and Mrs. Geppetto played the jovial middle-class couple.

How much everything changed.

  


* * *

 

After their extended tea, Ruby found herself accompanying Mr. Hopper to the door, with Mr. Geppetto muttering something about “young’uns”—an odd comment, considering Mr. Hopper was almost twice Ruby’s age.

“Thank you for giving me the pleasure of your company,” Mr. Hopper said, more gentleman than secretary, and Ruby gave a curt nod in reply.

When he made no move for the door, instead fidgeting with the brim of his hat still in his hands, Ruby could keep back her comments no longer. “Mr. Hopper, I know we now find ourselves in each other’s acquaintance, and I dare say we _will_ be seeing a lot of each other, knowing Mr. and Mrs. Geppetto’s hospitality, but do not mistake the nature of our relationship for that of intimacy.” She noticed his raised brows at her outburst, but she could not regret the words that had finally spilled over.

“I would never presume to impose myself on you,” Mr. Hopper said with very little reaction, save for a hint of an amused smile behind his clear eyes. “Please forgive any breach of impropriety on my part. I trust you will find my behaviour more suitable in the future.” After he placed his hat on his head, he added, “You must forgive a mere secretary his ignorance of high society ways. Good day.” And with a quick nod, he was out the door.

Ruby stood in place for a moment before she shut the door. In truth, he had done nothing wrong or improper. His actions were far more gentlemanly than any man she had seen come through the boarding house. And yet—

Ruby was not so naïve as to be ignorant of her beauty that attracted attention from all quarters. At De Vil House, it made a friend of any gentleman that came through the doors while distancing any lady and fueling the ire of Cruella herself. With her newly gained fortune, the combination of such beauty and social standing—and, most of all, her wealth—would bring any and every single gentlemen to her feet, thinking themselves deserving of her as the prize of a pretty, rich wife. Little did they know she would not be their docile ideal, and she would not so easily give up the power that was now hers of choosing the most fitting husband.

And that fitting husband would most certainly _not_ take the form of a timid secretary with no standing or fortune. Ruby knew enough of the world to know the importance of money, and the harsh reality of life without it. No, she would no longer be at the mercy of a rich gentleman’s whim or that of a greedy landlady. And she certainly would not fall for the first gentleman who made eyes at her.

Most importantly, she would _not_ fall for a man under Mr. Geppetto’s employment.


	2. Chapter 2

Belle French sighed, lost in thought and elbow-deep in cold washing-water. It felt like the stack of dishes beside her would never end, though she should be grateful for the employment after the scandal that enveloped her family. Her father’s work had always been far from reputable, but his latest find happened to be the body of the most sought-after heir in London.

Oh, why did it have to be _him_ , of all people?!

Belle was always the one to row the boat, for she couldn’t stand sitting on the side so close to the floating corpse. It was wrong, so very wrong, no matter how hard her father tried to convince her otherwise. Surely there were other ways to eke out a living rather than dredging the river for missing persons…

It wasn’t hard to find the papers on the body, and before she knew it, Chip had been sent to bring back the man’s lawyer—Mr. Gold. He was a dark and brooding man, gruff but somehow polished in his manners, soft-spoken, but commanding in his questions. Belle couldn’t make him out.

The tension hung thick in the room as she huddled in the corner, easily hidden from the faint glow of the hearth as its smoke filled the air. Belle knew that this was no ordinary body, no long lost soul that no one would miss. The swollen purple face was beyond any recognizable features, but the clothes were fine and the papers identified him as Jiminy Cricket.

Belle and Chip would soon discover that this man was supposed to inherit his father’s fortune and had been returning from his years abroad to claim his inheritance. At the time, they only knew that his death warranted the inspector and the lawyer, and a myriad of questions for her father usually not required.

As Belle clung to her brother in the corner, rubbing his arm to reassure herself as much as him, she tried to calm the pounding in her chest that fueled her unease. She caught the eye of the man, the lawyer, and for a moment she was held in his gaze. She quickly glanced away, and dared not look in his direction until he was long gone with their father in tow. Moe French’s protests of innocence went unheeded, and Belle and Chip were left alone in their little shanty on the riverbed.

At thirteen, Chip was too old for fairytales, but Belle needed the familiar routine that night of all nights to chase away the gloom. “Belle, I’m a man now! Not a child to be soothed with silly stories.”

Belle smiled and fingered the curl by his temple before tucking it behind his ear. “For me, then,” she said softly, perched on the edge of his cot as he pulled the thin blanket up to his chin.

“Once upon a time, there was a good king,” she began, dropping her voice to become a master storyteller. “He ruled his kingdom with a just and caring hand. He loved his people, but he especially loved his children who reminded him of his dear wife who had passed away years before.” The rise and fall of her tone was already putting her little man to sleep, the events of the day having taken their toll. “Now he had a beautiful princess, and a dashing young prince who would one day be king…”

Belle smiled at the memory of the boy, looking much younger than his thirteen years, drift off to sleep in the faint light of the dying embers. A sharp voice called her out of her reverie. “Belle! You must be done with those dishes by now, girl! I’m not paying you by the hour, you know.”

Belle jumped, nearly splashing dirty water over the basin. She rinsed off the last plate and toweled it dry with a grimace at the state of the rag barely held together by its threads. At least the young bachelors of De Vil House weren’t the most discerning of guests, being more concerned about what was on their plate rather than the state of the dishes themselves.

The sun had set long ago as Belle grabbed her shawl from the hook and followed the smell of smoke to the parlour where the landlady sat, cigarette in hand, in front of the fire.

“M-miss De Vil?” Belle stuttered, slowly walking around the winged-back chair to face the woman with severe cheekbones and heavily rouged cheeks, made more intimidating by the shifting firelight.

“I thought you’d be long gone,” Miss De Vil huffed without making eye contact.

Belle took a deep breath. “It’s—it’s my pay day, ma’am.” Belle bit her lower lip, desperately wishing she did not have to beg for her due, but necessity demanded such measures she knew her father’s pride would prohibit.

A bony hand waved as if to send Belle away. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow. You’ll get your pay.” The ornery woman spat out the word, and Belle heard her mutter something about “that Lucas brat”.

Before Belle could say anything more, the front door creaked open, followed by heavy footsteps to reveal a redheaded gentleman with spectacles and a top hat standing in the parlour doorway.

“Is everything alright here?” he asked, shooting Belle a look of sympathy. Belle couldn’t help but give him a small smile in return.

“Mr. Hopper!” Miss De Vil sprang up from her chair to face her most prestigious boarder with an insincere smile fixed on her lips. “Nothing you need concern yourself with, I assure you.”

Belle saw her chance and cut in. “I was just reminding Miss De Vil that my wages are due,” she said. The landlady’s eyes narrowed in Belle’s direction before she smiled at Mr. Hopper, and Belle had to bite her lip to hide her own smirk.

“Well?” Mr. Hopper raised his brow at the woman in front of them.

“Yes, well, then. Just a moment.” Miss De Vil’s eyes moved from Belle to Mr. Hopper and back to Belle again before she swept out of the room with her rope of beads jangling around her neck. Belle let out the breath she was holding and turned to the man beside her.

“Are you going home, Miss French? Do you need an escort?”

Belle warmed at the thoughtful offer, but she shook her head. “Thank you kindly, Mr. Hopper, but I’ll be alright. I know these streets well.”

“If you’re sure,” the man nodded as he removed his hat. “I’ll just wait with you to ensure Miss De Vil brings you your due.”

The warmth behind his eyes calmed Belle’s nerves, and she marveled at this man who seemed to genuinely care for her wellbeing. “Thank you, sir.”

“Here, take it,” Miss De Vil spat as she returned and shoved the coins into Belle’s hands. Placing her hand on Mr. Hopper’s arm, her tone turned honey-sweet as she cooed, “Please let me know if you need anything, Mr. Hopper.”

“Thank you for your attention to the needs of everyone, Miss De Vil, but I’ll be sure to call should any need arise.” Mr. Hopper smiled at Belle with a hint of mirth, a secret joke passing between them, before turning to the stairs. “Good night, ladies.”

Belle hugged her shawl around her and scurried out the door before she could see the woman’s reaction, her fist clenched around her hard-earned reward as she made her way through the dark streets of London and disappeared into the night.

 

* * *

 

 

Archie trudged up the narrow staircase, down the hallway, and shut his door behind him. With a heavy sigh he leaned against the hard surface, finally closed off from the world after a long day.

The room was small and sparsely furnished, though clean and sufficient for a boarding house. Archie had hoped to blend in with the other boarders and his heart started to race when Carlotta De Vil assured him she had given him the best room in the house. Now her fawning over him was amusing, though it hid a darker spirit that, if it was only up to him, made him wish to put as much distance between himself and her as he possibly could.

His encounter with Belle below, however, reminded him that there were other reasons to be here. He glanced out the grime-streaked window to catch a flicker of starlight over the rooftops of London and thought of the girl making her way back home. Archie hoped she had a warm fire awaiting her, though he knew enough of the world to know that wasn’t a certainty. At least she had her handful of coins as recompense for her hard work.

He sent up a little prayer to the stars—a childhood habit that seemed to be returning to him along with his return to London—to wish safe travels for the slim brunette who had seen more hardship than her young life deserved. Archie guessed she must be about the same age as the Geppettos new charge.

With that thought, his mind wandered to the beautiful Miss Lucas, and he haphazardly tossed his coat and hat on the chair in the corner. Against his better judgment, he opened the trunk at the foot of the bed and rifled through the few belongings at the bottom to find a faded photograph.

In the dim light of the candle already lit in anticipation of his return, Archie fell onto the thin mattress of the bed, fingering the edges of the photo. The face that stared back and him was bright with clear eyes shining despite the serious expression formed by her lips. Her hair was dark and pulled back at the nape of her neck in a style more simple than the fashionable curls she now wore.

He turned the paper over and read the name scrawled across the back in pencil, now smudged, that had become engrained in his memory. _Ruby Lucas_. The face that had only been a photograph became a living, breathing woman a week ago, and it was no exaggeration to say she took his breath away.

He thought it would be enough just to glimpse her at the boarding house, but his pulse raced when he sat beside her at the tea with the Geppettos that afternoon. He cursed himself for his awkward silence, along with the times he’d caught her gaze. Her eyes were more blue than he could have imagined, and they held a liveliness that no likeness could ever capture—he did not want to look away, no matter how much politeness required it of him.

He closed his eyes against the next memory that came unbidden—her harsh words as she saw him to the door that afternoon. _Do not mistake the nature of our relationship for that of intimacy._ The words cut into him now as they did then, no matter how he tried to convince himself it didn’t matter. She owed him nothing, and he had no right to place any expectations on her. As far as she was concerned, he was a lowly secretary unworthy of her notice.

“Which is exactly how you wanted it!” Archie exclaimed aloud, surprising himself. He drew in a deep breath and raised his arm against his forehead, the photo loosely held between his fingers.

The candle began to flicker as it neared the end of the wick. Archie sat up, having no desire to do any more. He quickly filed the photo safely in his trunk, kicked off his shoes, and pulled back the quilts. Jiminy Cricket might be sure to undergo the proper bed-time routine, but Archibald Hopper couldn’t care in the least.


	3. Chapter 3

The biting wind cut through Remus Gold as he stepped out of the carriage. “Wait here,” he instructed the driver, turning to get his bearings in the dockside shantytown so far from civilization. He pulled the collar of his coat over his nose to guard against the stench that hung thick in the air—coming from both the river and the occupants around its shores, Remus assumed.

He started down the gravel road as he tried to remember his way to the house—if it could be called that—where he had been a few nights earlier. The daylight illuminated the poverty that had been covered by darkness before, and he muttered to himself, wondering how anyone could live in such conditions.

Better to get this over with.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was here. It was not required of him, to follow up with the family of the drunk who had found the Cricket body. He was working for the Cricket estate—the Geppettos, now—and cared little for the wellbeing of these people who clung to life in such a disgusting method.

Mr. Gold brushed any self-questioning thoughts aside as he climbed the rough boards to the thin “door” of the house—really just some planks barely held together on a rough hinge. He gripped his cane and tapped it on the wood.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

He waited for what seemed like ages before trying again. Mid-tap, the door swung open to reveal a slim brunette in a simple dress with an apron that was wet at the knees and held together with too many patches. Her brow glistened with sweat and a few strands of hair fell in her face, but Mr. Gold’s heart stopped in his throat to see her face, before hidden by the shadows of the shack, so clearly in the overcast light from outdoors.

“M-Mr. Gold,” she stuttered and gave a quick curtsey. Remus thought he saw a look of alarm flit across her features.

Mr. Gold collected himself and nodded to the girl. “Miss French.” He realized he didn’t know her name apart from that of her father. “I—I was wondering if I might speak with you.” Her features widened in more concern and he cringed at how poorly he’d already begun. “Nothing’s wrong,” he blurted out, as if to reassure her as quickly as possible.

This was new territory for him.

“Please, come in,” she gestured inside, and as Remus gingerly stepped into the cramped quarters, he looked for a place to sit while the girl closed the door. Instantly the room became much darker, reminding him of the gloom that filled the room when he was there before.

Belle removed a pile of rags from a chair and gestured to the now-empty seat. Gold sat down, though he had to fight the urge to give it a wipe beforehand. The nervous expression on her face, however, made him wish to appear as natural as possible to alleviate any concerns of hospitality on her part. It was sweet, really, that she should be concerned about such domesticities in a hovel like this.

“Thank you,” Mr. Gold nodded as he took a biscuit she offered. He expected a dry and tough mouthful, but the small treat was surprisingly tasty. “Mmmm,” he nodded, mouth full, with more fervour.

Belle smiled as she put the plate back on the rough table, taking nothing for herself, and sat down on the cot in the corner beside him. Mr. Gold noticed the wet planks on the floor with a small bucket beside them and realized he must have interrupted her work. All things considered, the small space seemed almost homey, in a rough sort of way.

Moe French did not deserve such a daughter.

Surprised at himself for the unbidden thought, Mr. Gold shifted on the chair and returned his focus to Belle. He realized he had yet to explain himself to this creature who must be worried sick about her father.

“You must be wondering as to the reason for my visit,” he started as way of an explanation. He noticed Belle smoothing out her skirt and tucking her hair behind her ears, and a pang of guilt hit him at the abruptness of his visit. How odd—he never cared in the least before. Then again, he had never made such an unnecessary visit before, motivated by nothing but courtesy.

Belle nodded but said nothing, her eyes fixed on his as if to urge him to continue.

“After much questioning, it was decided that there was not enough evidence to support the suspicion that your father had anything to do with the murder of Mr. Jiminy Cricket,” he started, and he kept his eyes fixed on Belle’s. “I just… I wished to alleviate any concern as soon as I could, in hopes to save you unnecessary worry.”

Belle shifted in her seat, and Remus realized she did not look relieved. Surely this was good news?

“W-when do you expect my father will be released?” she asked carefully.

“By the end of the day, I expect,” Remus answered, though he couldn’t begin to guess how long the man would linger at a pub or two before coming home to his family.

Remus furrowed his brow at the lack of pleasure it seemed to give her before he caught himself. Was that why he had come? Because he wanted to see this girl light up at the good news—to have her profusely thank him for bringing such tidings?

Before he could make any awkward excuses to take his leave, the door swung open with the entrance of the scraggly youth who’d been present the night the body had been found.

“Chip!” Belle cried, jumping up and racing to her brother as Remus slowly stood with the help of his cane.

She tugged at the boy’s collar and wiped off his coat. “Chip, this is Mr. Gold, from the other night,” she explained, gesturing to him.

The dirty-blonde boy nodded with a mumbled “g’day, sir,” and Remus nodded a silent greeting in reply, feeling very out of place.

“He’s just told me that Father is coming home today,” she continued, her eyes flitting between himself and her brother. Remus thought she looked a nervous creature, her smile unable to hide whatever troubled her.

Whatever her secrets were, they were of no concern to him. “I’ll bid you good-day,” he said, making his way to the door. “Good-bye, Miss French—Master French.”

He ignored the way the lady’s small smile—genuine, this time—made his pulse quicken as he hurried down the steps and up the gravel path back to his carriage.

Ah, well. At least he was done with that part of the sordid affair, he thought to himself, wishing to put some distance between himself and the slum more quickly than his legs could carry him, eager to leave it behind.

 

* * *

 

Belle had barely closed the door before she turned to Chip, her heart racing.

“Oh, Chip, I think it’s time!” she exclaimed, rushing to the side of the cot and dropping to her knees. She tugged on a loose floorboard to reveal an opening and pulled out a round, skinny tin.

Sitting on the bed, she opened the lid and dropped the coins on to the blanket. Carefully, she counted them out before snatching them up, her pulse racing. She crossed the room and pressed them into her brother’s hand, wrapping his fingers around the coins like they were precious jewels.

“I’d hoped we’d have more time,” she tried to explain as she blinked back the tears that pricked her eyes and stung her nose. “But you’ve got to get away from here, to make a better life for yourself.” She turned her back to him and quickly wrapped some bread and cheese in one of the clean rags from the pile.

“Belle, what are you talking about? I can’t leave you—and Father—”

“You must!” she exclaimed forcefully, turning around to see the shock in her brother’s face. Her features softened and she took his hands. “Please, Chip, you must—for my sake, if not for your own. When Father gets back, he’ll still be surrounded by scandal, no matter what the police say. People talk and turn the cold shoulder. You’ll not stand a chance of a decent life unless you get away from it all, and you can’t do that when Father is here.”

With a deep breath, she turned back around and fastened the little parcel together.

“Here, take this,” she instructed, pressing the bundle into his hands. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before daring to meet her brother’s gaze.

A lump rose in her throat and she strove to continue. “Go to your headmaster. There’s enough there for lodgings until you can earn your keep. Stay with your learning, and you’ll soon be well-respected and proper,” she assured him.

Chip nodded along with her instructions. “If you’re sure.”

Belle simply nodded, her chest tight and her mouth dry. She licked her lips. “Quickly, now,” she managed to say.

He paused at the doorway, and she put her hands on his shoulder. “I love you,” she said softly before wrapping her arms tightly around him. She squeezed with all her strength, knowing that things would be vastly different between them the next time they should meet—if at all.

“Good-bye, Belle,” Chip said as they pulled apart.

Belle couldn’t resist brushing her hand across his forehead and tucking a away a stray curl. He face was still round and boyish, and she couldn’t imagine he was really old enough to deal with the world.

“And r-remember to always think well of Father, no matter what anyone says,” Belle called after him as he rushed down the steps. He lifted his hand in a wave, barely turning back, before he disappeared over the hill and up the street.

As she closed the door, Belle collapsed on the other side, finally letting the tears stream down her face.

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you think, Ruby dear? The calico or the muslin?”

“Hmm?” Ruby asked, blinking to focus on what Mrs. Geppetto was saying beside her.

The older woman chuckled. “I was just saying, do you think the calico fabric is nicer, or the muslin?”

“They’re both nice,” Ruby assured her, running her finger over the bolts of fabric the shopkeer displayed for them.

“Quite right,” Mrs. Gepetto agreed. “We’ll take them both,” she said to the man behind the counter.

Ruby tried not to gawk at the extravagance and nodded as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And why not spend one’s fortune on the clothes befitting one’s new station, if one had the money to spare?

Ruby noticed a couple of middle-aged women in the store looking at ribbons a few paces away. She could hear their mutterings over the “new money” and “Mrs. So-and-so” and “who does she think she is?” It grated on Ruby and made her want to shrink down to nothing as Mrs. Geppetto’s rough accent filled the store, asking the shopkeeper to show them all the new bonnets they had in the window.

“Oh, Ruby, won’t that look splendid on you!” Mrs. Geppetto all but squealed like a schoolgirl as the shopkeeper brought them a crimson hat trimmed with scarlet ribbons and cream lace, bedecked with rosettes of a deeper shade of red and topped with three large red feathers.

“It’s… lovely,” Ruby agreed, wincing at the gaudiness of it all. Surely a couple rosettes or feathers would be nice, but it looked like the milliner was trying too hard to impress.

Ruby could hear the women beside them snickering, and the sound grated on her nerves. Squaring her shoulders and setting her jaw, Ruby assured Mrs. Geppetto that she would be thrilled with such a purchase, and wouldn’t it look lovely with that particular shade of sky blue ribbon that these ladies were eyeing? She just _had_ to have the whole spool.

With a smirk, Ruby helped Mrs. Geppetto carry out their purchases, their arms full of boxes of hats and promises of dresses to come and more blue ribbon than Ruby was sure she could use in a lifetime, but the shocked faces of those snobbish good-for-nothings made it worth it. “Good afternoon, ladies,” Ruby said in a sing-song voice, earning her a disgruntled “humph!” from the older woman as they passed.

There was something thrilling to be surrounded by such lovely boxes which declared the finery hidden within as the carriage took them home. It still felt like a dream, to pull up to such a fine house and to be helped out of the carriage like a proper lady!

Ruby carried in a few boxes—though the servants said they could help, she was more than capable of carrying her own things!—and made her way inside.

“Miss Lucas!” a familiar voice called out, and Ruby almost dropped her goodies as she turned around.

Mr. Hopper rushed forward and took a box from her pile. “Please, let me help you,” he offered.

“I’m—fine, thank you,” Ruby said with a huff, trying to peer around her load without much success.

“Um, yes—I c-can see that.”

Ruby frowned. “Were you just on your way out, Mr. Hopper? Please, don’t stop on my account.” She shifted the parcels and boxes in her arms and decided that peering _over_ them was the best course of action.

She caught Mr. Hopper’s smile that crinkled his eyes behind his spectacles. “Actually, I was just here to see Mr. Geppetto and he invited me to stay for tea.”

Ruby bit back a retort. “Then I suppose I shall see you shortly,” she said with as much civility—if not warmth—as she could muster. “Now if you’ll be so kind as to return that box to the top, I shall carry these to my rooms.”

“O-of course,” he stuttered, carefully piling the small box on top. “You made out well today, by the looks of things.”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Hopper.” She could feel his judgment at her extravagance as his gaze wandered over her armload. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He stepped back to let her pass on her way to her apartment, and Ruby walked with her head held high—until she had to watch her feet as she made her way up the stairs.

The parcels were light, but the load was bulky and heavy, and she let out a sigh of relief to unload the boxes in her room.

She shrugged out of her jacket, unpinned her hat, and brushed out her skirt with her hands. With a quick glance in the mirror, she smoothed out her hair and pinched her cheeks.

Gaudy hat or not, she could outshine any of those horrid women’s daughters, she thought with satisfaction as she looked herself over in the large looking glass and glanced at the lovely new purchases she’d acquired—a luxury unfathomable in her past life.

So why should a lowly secretary’s opinion aggravate her so?


End file.
